To My Daughters on Their 13th Birthday
Dear Zoe and Talia,
For weeks now, ladies, you've been reminding me--each day--that your 13th birthday is approaching. And as I said in my last post, I've replied--each day--"I'm not ready."
At the time, I meant that I hadn't done any birthday shopping and I didn't know what sorts of cakes I'd be making. I've finished those items now. In fact, I have one big surprise for you and a few little surprises in store. I also baked and frosted the cupcakes and two pies are ready to head into the oven. Those tasks are insignificant, though. Because as time went on and your big day loomed closer and closer, I realized that my words, "I'm not ready," actually meant far more than I originally thought.
I'm not ready for much, when I think about you two. I'm not ready to see you move to your last year of middle school, since high school is right around the corner. Which means I'm also not ready to see you one year closer to moving out of our house. I'm not ready to watch you make your own decisions, hopefully the right ones, because I'm certainly not ready to see you fall when you don't. And I'm surely not ready to let go of you. But I know, as you pile on the years, that I must let go, and cut the ties, if you will. It's a part of growing up, a very normal process. One that I've been enjoying since the moment you entered the world.
In case you need a reminder, the day of your arrival dawned cold and icy. I wasn't ready then, either, for the journey upon which I embarked. Somehow--miraculously even--I managed the day of your birth, and the next day, and the next. One day smoothly moved into another and now, here we are. I remember those first days, though, like they were yesterday. Me, in my groggy state, poking your tiny (so tiny!) fingers and toes and thinking that we were the luckiest people in the world to have such gorgeous and healthy babies. I also remember looking at you and thinking, How in the world can I tell which of these beautiful babies is Zoe and which is Talia? I wasn't ready to find the differences, but soon, very soon after we brought you home, you began to grow in ways such that your uniqueness set you each apart.
I'm glad I opened myself to finding those differences, and when I think about that time, I wonder if that's not the key here, too, to muddling my way through the next few years. Maybe I need to acknowledge that I'm not ready, but keep my options open, to look for direction where I might not expect it: from you.
I'm sure at this point you're wondering where I'm going with this post. You know I like to write, and you know I like to wander when I talk, so truthfully, this post could continue until your 14th birthday. (My heart rate sped up as I wrote that number. It scares me.) I can't really say where I'm going at all, other than I want to tell you how much you mean to me. I know you know that I care for you. I know you know that I have fun when we're together. But I also want you to know that even when I'm not ready--for flippant attitudes, for boyfriend talk (thank goodness we're not there yet), for drivers licenses, for phones--I'll pretend that I am. For your sake. Because that's what I've been doing all this time. I've been the biggest poseur ever, pretending I knew what to do as a parent, when really, I had no idea. But I took my cues from you, and somehow, we've made it to your 13th birthday.
I'm sure those words might be the last thing you expected me to say. That's how it goes for me. I start to write, and then, all of a sudden, words I didn't know were coming, pop to the forefront of my mind. But what I said is all true. I had no idea what to do the day the nurses put you in my arms. I still have no idea what to do. I'm not ready--ever--but because I love you, I'll try my best.
So Happy Birthday, Zoe and Talia. I love you.
For weeks now, ladies, you've been reminding me--each day--that your 13th birthday is approaching. And as I said in my last post, I've replied--each day--"I'm not ready."
At the time, I meant that I hadn't done any birthday shopping and I didn't know what sorts of cakes I'd be making. I've finished those items now. In fact, I have one big surprise for you and a few little surprises in store. I also baked and frosted the cupcakes and two pies are ready to head into the oven. Those tasks are insignificant, though. Because as time went on and your big day loomed closer and closer, I realized that my words, "I'm not ready," actually meant far more than I originally thought.
I'm not ready for much, when I think about you two. I'm not ready to see you move to your last year of middle school, since high school is right around the corner. Which means I'm also not ready to see you one year closer to moving out of our house. I'm not ready to watch you make your own decisions, hopefully the right ones, because I'm certainly not ready to see you fall when you don't. And I'm surely not ready to let go of you. But I know, as you pile on the years, that I must let go, and cut the ties, if you will. It's a part of growing up, a very normal process. One that I've been enjoying since the moment you entered the world.
In case you need a reminder, the day of your arrival dawned cold and icy. I wasn't ready then, either, for the journey upon which I embarked. Somehow--miraculously even--I managed the day of your birth, and the next day, and the next. One day smoothly moved into another and now, here we are. I remember those first days, though, like they were yesterday. Me, in my groggy state, poking your tiny (so tiny!) fingers and toes and thinking that we were the luckiest people in the world to have such gorgeous and healthy babies. I also remember looking at you and thinking, How in the world can I tell which of these beautiful babies is Zoe and which is Talia? I wasn't ready to find the differences, but soon, very soon after we brought you home, you began to grow in ways such that your uniqueness set you each apart.
I'm glad I opened myself to finding those differences, and when I think about that time, I wonder if that's not the key here, too, to muddling my way through the next few years. Maybe I need to acknowledge that I'm not ready, but keep my options open, to look for direction where I might not expect it: from you.
I'm sure at this point you're wondering where I'm going with this post. You know I like to write, and you know I like to wander when I talk, so truthfully, this post could continue until your 14th birthday. (My heart rate sped up as I wrote that number. It scares me.) I can't really say where I'm going at all, other than I want to tell you how much you mean to me. I know you know that I care for you. I know you know that I have fun when we're together. But I also want you to know that even when I'm not ready--for flippant attitudes, for boyfriend talk (thank goodness we're not there yet), for drivers licenses, for phones--I'll pretend that I am. For your sake. Because that's what I've been doing all this time. I've been the biggest poseur ever, pretending I knew what to do as a parent, when really, I had no idea. But I took my cues from you, and somehow, we've made it to your 13th birthday.
I'm sure those words might be the last thing you expected me to say. That's how it goes for me. I start to write, and then, all of a sudden, words I didn't know were coming, pop to the forefront of my mind. But what I said is all true. I had no idea what to do the day the nurses put you in my arms. I still have no idea what to do. I'm not ready--ever--but because I love you, I'll try my best.
So Happy Birthday, Zoe and Talia. I love you.
Comments
Hmm.. You can keep him. ;)
Happy birthday Zoe and Talia. I still can't tell them apart.